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Dropped a little bomb on you at the bottom there, eh?

Yeah, I’ve started saying “eh.” It’s less inelegant than “huh” which I say at the end of sentences anyway. We’re also teaching Naomi that, in Canada, the alphabet ends in “Zed.” (She thinks this is hilarious.)

So that’s why I haven’t been writing. It’s not because I’ve had nothing to say, but because I have so much to say. Some of it I had to sit on, and then I got confused and didn’t know where to start, so I just sat on all of it. I ended up doing strange things like updating my ravelry projects page. (I got to 280 knitting projects before I had to stop because pictures from before 2011 are mostly stored on a different computer).

But now we can finally let the cat out of the bag. Or the herd of cats. We’re moving to northern Canada, and will be working as ministers. Our lives are changing big-time.

If you want the whole story, you should toodle on over to our new family blog: Osborns in the Arctic. The OFS blog will remain as my personal space for reflection and rambling on about wool, food, or whatever else captures my fancy. But the bulk of our transitions and travels will be recorded over there. In sum: look there for pictures of babies and snow; look here for pictures of sweaters and dead fish.

And there will be travels. And transitions. Oh so many. In eight days, all of our possessions that we want to have with us in Iqaluit have to be on a truck (save a few that we will lug around the country with us). We’ll drive that truck as far as Ottawa ourselves, then come back to Pittsburgh. We get ordained on July 11th (please come!), then have two more weeks to rid ourselves of the rest of our worldly goods, and store as much with our parents as we can talk them into. Then a week in Maryland, a week in California, a week in Rhode Island… and it’s off to Ottawa, then our new home by mid-August.

It’s going to be crazy pants. I waffle between excited and stressed, but most of the time just ignore the issue. It’s hard to get too caught up in things when 90% of my waking time is still spent feeding, clothing, and playing with two tiny girls. The invasion of boxes has started, which has a horrible sense of finality to it. But I’m glad the process has finally started. It’s time.